


Why Novak Djokovic was late to his Final Press Conference in the World Tour Finals

by lady_snow



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angry Sex, F/F, F/M, Love/Hate, Slight none-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_snow/pseuds/lady_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well. This was a challenge. I've never written anything but Andy Roddick/Roger Federer, and Novak and Roger are a difficult pairing, IMHO. I really hope you'd like it, it's maybe not the easiest fic out there. Maybe more hate-sex than Angry sex? This fic wrote itself, mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Novak Djokovic was late to his Final Press Conference in the World Tour Finals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caz_kenobi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=caz_kenobi).



  
  
How Roger hated these post match celebrations. Never, in all his professional life, did he want to smash his racquet against another player’s face, the way he wanted to whenever Novak screamed, roared and tore up his shirt in victory as if it was his first title in juniors, or something. He’s seen some emotional post-match celebrations in his tennis career, Rafa could get fiery in the heat of battle, and celebrated emotionally when he won a tough match, but it was never meant to antagonize, and it wasn’t directed at him.  
  
Novak never celebrated as hard as when he won against him, he made it personal and loud and blunt as humanly possible. If he could yell “Ha, take that!’ on court at Roger, Roger knew he would have. Or maybe he did, in Serbian, and Roger just didn’t understand.  
For a second he debated whether for once, just for once, he should refuse a handshake, but then shrugged it off. It was the last match of the season, he’d hear nothing but the words ‘sore loser’ from here to Australia. He had better sense than that.  
  
This was a bitter, bitter loss. He played well enough to win, but couldn’t maintain an advantage. And again it was that dreaded 40-15 on his own serve with set points on the line. He had really come to hate that particular score against this particular player. Djokovic played well, the asshole. Roger had to give him that, but he knew, he just knew, that if it was 2006, he would have won that match, as well as a couple of other close ones. At his very prime, he was better, way better, especially on this type of court. It was a cold comfort after a day like today.  
  
He didn’t waste any time before doing his press. Only splashed water on his face and changed his shirt. He didn’t want to take the time to shower. Showering after a loss usually got him thinking, standing there under the warm spray made him feel every ache, and every emotion, so much stronger. He always ended up melancholic and sad, never mind weepy. He hated that before press. The match was indoors, so he could get away with just a change of shirt.  
  
He was biting his cheek all through press. Everyone had a great year, he had a great year. Yada Yada. At this stage of his career, he could do complimentary, articulate and cheery all at the same time. It took some talent and some natural inclination, but no one could tell he was angry at himself.  
The truth is, he HAS had a great year. He’d sign off on Wimbledon and a Silver medal at the beginning of the year. Especially Wimbledon. It was maybe his sweetest Slam of all. But it was hard to remember that after losing, especially in one of the tournaments he felt most certain he could bag again this year. This was maybe his favorite court ever. More than grass, even. Fuck but how could he screw that up. He didn’t play badly. Damn it.  
  
When Roger returned to the locker-room, he headed straight into the shower. Bone tired, he leaned against the wall and allowed the water wash over him. He could hear footsteps in the locker-room, but he didn’t pay attention. In his heart he knew it was Djokovic, but he was too weary to care. He could hear him laughing and talking in Serbian to Marian Vadja. Then the room fell quiet, as Novak was obviously left alone by his team to shower. Now Roger was stuck. He didn’t really want to get out until Novak leaves, but when he heard the water running, he decided to chance it. He wrapped a towel around himself and peeked out. Novak was in the other shower. And from the commotion, he was singing. And dancing, too, from the ruckus he was making. Roger rolled his eyes and started dressing hurriedly; he just wanted to get out of there. But a moment after he put on his boxer shorts, he heard a loud swear, and Novak emerged from the shower, wet, naked and blinking, only to stop dead on his tracks when he came face to face with Roger. Both men stared at each other for a moment. Novak wiped his face and grinned sheepishly. “Oops. Sorry, didn’t realize you were still here. I forgot the shampoo.”  
Roger glanced at the bench where Novak’s stuff was scattered, located the shampoo and handed it to him.“Here,” He said brusquely. “Don’t drip over the floor.”  
Novak shrugged.“Tournament is over, nobody cares.”  
“Well, the cleaning staff might, so...”  
Novak’s eyes narrowed, and he let out a soft whistle. “You’re so angry that you’ve lost.”  
Roger cocked a brow. “I not happy about it, would you? What does it has to do with anything?”  
“Nobody likes to lose, but I’ve seen you when you lose and you’re not like this, this is just for me.”  
Roger snorted. “You have a big head.”  
Novak smile turned predatory. “You know something” He looked down, then back up, and waited until Roger’s eyes made the same down-then back up journey, “I really do.”  
Roger colored, and his eyes narrowed. “Forget it, all you know is cheap tricks and mind games, so I’m going to go and start my vacation. Enjoy yours.” He turned his back to him, but Novak reached to grab his arm and yanked him back. “I know you’re looking.”  
Roger, shocked, didn’t try to shake the hand off. “Looking at *what*?”  
“Me, you look. In the locker-room.”  
“You’re out of your mind.” Roger said, pale with  fury. ”Yeah. I don’t like to lose to you, you want to know why? Because deep down, you’re still the same guy that retires whenever he’s losing a tough one. These celebrations when you win aren’t that different. It’s still classless, it’s a show of dominance AFTER you’ve won, which is basically a huge waste of time. It’s unworthy of a number one player. So yeah, I  rather not to lose to a player who has to resort to tricks like that. Any other explanation is in your mind.”  
Novak didn’t blink, and was still smirking.”I’m another Alpha, and it ruffles your feathers.”  
”Another ALPHA?” Roger cocked an eyebrow.  “Did you watch too much Twilight, or what?”  
“Rafa defers to you. After he beats you -  he’ll basically roll on his back and show his belly.You like that, but you also find it boring. I don’t do that, I stand up to you win or lose. It annoys you, but it also turns you on. You like a real rivalry, and you have that with me.”  
Roger’s eyes searched Novak’s face for a moment, then his lips tightened and he released his hand from the Serb’s grip. “Put some clothes on.” He said blankly and turned around. Novak yanked his arm again, stronger this time, pulling the other man close. Roger struggled against the grip.”What are you doing?” He shoved him hard, and Novak, with water pooling beneath his feet, slide backwards and got slammed against the wall. “Oouf.” He groaned in pain. Roger’s eyes widened in alarm. “Shit. Are you okay?”  
Novak grimaced as he straightened his back. “Thanks, man. This is going to leave a bruise.”  
Roger, tension ebbing now that it was clear to him he hasn’t seriously hurt the other man, gritted his teeth. “Next time don’t touch me like that..”  
Novak gave him a pointed, up and down stare. “If you’re unwilling, why are you hard? You hear things when you’re on tour long enough. I know you like men, too.”  
Roger swallowed, this wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but the man was hitting at him, so blackmail was apparently not in the cards. “So, what of it? It doesn’t mean I like *you*.”  
Novak carried on, undeterred. “You’re hard.” As if that was enough. “Can you play, or is the leash you’re on as short as I think it is?”  
Roger’s expression hardened. “Shut it. And I don’t want to play, I’d have to scrub myself with caustic soda after.”  
Novak smirked and gave Roger a look. Roger recognized that look. It was the look Novak often gave a trophy BEFORE a final. It was a predatory look. He shivered. It wasn’t lost on Novak. He advanced toward Roger, cautiously this time, his back still smarting from the close encounter with the wall. “You don’t have to like me to want to fuck me, Roger. Sometimes fucking isn’t about that. It’s about scratching an itch.”  
Roger’s eyes widened at that and Novak advanced another step. “I think you have an itch that needs scratching, Roger.”  
“Why are you doing this?” Roger asked, his voice hoarse and higher than normal.”I know you don’t like me either.”  
Novak shrugged, and advanced another step. “Maybe I have an itch as well.”  
Roger licked his lips. He’d be embarrassed about being hard, if Novak wasn’t stark naked and hard as a rock as well. “Why offer yourself to me, though? Why let me fuck you?”  
Novak took the final step, standing very close to Roger. So close he could feel the heat of the other man’s body. “Well, would you let me fuck you?”  
Roger almost snorted. “Um, No.”  
Novak shrugged. “Your loss, I fuck really good. But I enjoy seeing a guy looking at me like I’m something tasty that he has to have. You’re reluctant, but you still want to fuck me, I can see that in your face, and in other places...”  
He reached out to touch Roger, and they both watched as Novak’s palm slid down Roger’s chest, then cupped his dick through his boxers. Roger’s mouth gaped, and he tried to bite down on his moan, but Novak’s eyes narrowed. “Am I shocking you? Didn’t you think I was an attention slut all along?”  
“You are” Roger croaked, focusing on that damnable hand on his dick, the gentle squeeze and rub of it. FuckFuckfuck. The arousal was hitting him hard now, and he desperately wanted to thrust into that hand.  
Novak’s thumb circled the head. “I’m trying to seduce you. Are you going to freak out again? Because I need this body working and functional for next year.” The hand tightened a fraction more.  
Roger’s eyes darkened at this. His hand reached and clasped Novak’s wrist, hard. “I’m not going to freak out. I not the one who retires when he’s not on top. I don’t know what you had in mind, but I don’t fuck especially gently, if you’re going to do that - “ He squeezed on Novak’s wrist. “Then realize you don’t get to quit in the middle of this one. Don’t start something you can’t finish.”  
Novak smiled, bitterly. “Look, If I wanted warmth and cuddling, I wouldn’t go to YOU. I want you to fuck me, hard, and I want to come my brains off.” He glanced down. “From the looks of things you’re not going to last long enough for that.”  
Roger, even though a part of him knew he was being baited, charged at him. In a whip-like speed he   had Novak turned and pinned against the lockers. Novak’s breath escaped his lungs in a surprised exhale - he didn’t see Roger going from zero to eighty miles an hour like that on him. And now it was Roger’s turn to smirk. This felt good.  
In his head, a voice was asking him what the hell he was doing, but by now he was too far gone to listen. It was so long ago since he slept with a man. He loved Mirka, and he never slept with a man without her explicit permission, and those instances were rare anyway, he hadn’t felt the need for it in ages. And - he never slept with anyone from the tour. That was an unwritten rule. Too many complications, too much potential for awkwardness. This thing with Novak was something else ENTIRELY, and he knew what her reaction would be, but he pushed it out of his mind as his eyes focused on Novak’s ass. Novak had a really good ass. Roger usually loved them a little bigger than that, but it was smooth and warm and tanned. He ran his fingers over the skin there, wondering whether Novak tanned nude, then squeezed. Hard. Novak moaned, and pushed back against Roger.”Come on already.”  
Roger squeezed harder, fingers digging in, enough to leave a mark, and Novak moaned again. He reached out from behind and grabbed Roger to pull the man against him. Roger found himself pressed against a long, warm, tanned back. Novak smelled good. Fresh from his shower. And for a second his natural instincts kicked in, and he pressed his lips against the back of the Serb’s neck, because that’s what he was used to doing during sex whenever he was on top like that, it was a physical reaction to a warm body underneath him, that’s all. At Novak’s surprised intake of breath, he realized what he has done, and masked the kiss with teeth, biting down hard.  
Novak squirmed, and let out a little groan, but made no attempt to stop Roger from biting him, from marking him in a way that would be visible to onlookers. Why he was doing this, Roger didn’t understand, but the unexpected submission from someone who had done everything possible to antagonise him over the years was incredibly arousing.  
Then Novak took Roger’s hand and brought around his body and straight to his dick. “Don’t play around. Get me off.” Roger’s eyes narrowed, and he kept his hand maddeningly loose as he worked Nole - and when did Djokovic become Nole in his mind? - up and down, fingers fluttering on the underside teasingly... “Fuck you.” Djokovic muttered as he pushed into the hand..”Tighter. I don’t have all day, I got to be in press. They’d come looking for me.”  
Roger’s lips tightened. “Yes, you wouldn’t want to be late for your celebratory press conference.”  
Novak tilted his head to look at him, a smile on his lips. “We’re not bitter at all, are we?”  
“Shut up.” Roger growled.  
“Stop messing around then.”  
Roger’s shorts were bunching at his knees, so he kicked them off, pressed himself against Novak’s cleft and just rubbed on it. OhGod. For a moment he considered just thrusting into that heat, and take the other man raw, and something coiled at him at the thought, something dark and arousing as hell, something he didn’t quite recognize and he let out a choked moan, because fuck he was hard. Harder than he’s been in a long while. He grabbed Novak and had him bend at the hips. The Serb was slightly taller, and the angle was odd. He then ran a finger down his back, then down his cleft, and rubbed a bit. Novak shuddered, and glanced back at him. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”  
Roger blinked. For a guy so quick to show his physical discomforts on court, he was very eager to be taken raw, or maybe he just bottomed before? Somehow, Roger found it hard to believe.  
“Novak, we need lube, and a condom. I don’t have either on me.”  
Novak turned his head to him, a smile on his lips. “I thought you said you won’t be gentle, now you want lube?”  
Roger’s eyes narrowed. “And how are you going to explain in press why you can’t sit down? I won’t fuck you dry - I don’t really enjoy this, it’s not like fucking a woman. Unless you do that very often - you’ll most likely bleed. And I definitely won't fuck you without a condom.”  
Novak stood a little straighter and sighed. “My bag. Left pocket.”  
Roger stepped away to retrieve both items. He opened the little bottle and drizzled lube on his hand, then fisted himself a couple of times, and used the rest to smear against Novak’s hole, not gently, and not pausing to warm the stuff either. He was so hard, his dick was throbbing. He put the condom on, struggling with it a bit.  
When he lifted his head, he realized Novak has turned around, and was now leaning against the lockers, fisting himself slowly with one hand, the other hand toying with his nipple. The man was a sight, no doubt about it.  
“I prefer like this, if you don’t mind. I’m a visual guy, I like to watch what I’m doing.” Djokovic said. At Roger’s obvious hesitation, he squinted. “Or don’t you want to know who it is you’re fucking?”  
Roger paused, then said. “I’m not likely to forget who I’m fucking just because it’s from behind. But it’s way tougher like this, the leverage isn’t good.”  
The Serb smirked, and pulled Roger closer. “I’m the most flexible guy on tour, remember?” He lifted a long leg almost straight into the air and then propped the ankle over Roger’s shoulder.”Remember how I can do the splits on court? It’s good for sex, too.”  
Roger’s breath escaped him in a shocked gasp as he slowly slid his hands back to the Serb’s hips. “How do you do that?” He said, almost in awe. He was flexible, but nowhere like that. This was gymnastics level. He put his hands back on the Serb’s hips, aligned properly and then thrust forward, past the initial resistance of his opening. He heard a groan and realized it was himself, because fuckinghellhell.OhOh.  
Novak was hot and tight, so fucking tight. Even with the lube he could see the Serb’s face contorting as he entered him, but he didn’t ask him to stop, and Roger didn’t expect him to. Judging from the clenching and the impossible tightness, Novak hasn’t exactly done this a lot, and the angle still wasn’t great. Roger felt the muscles in his upper thighs protesting as he tip-toed into the thrusts, and his hands tightened around Novak’s thighs to adjust the angle, digging in hard. Even taking in the man’s really incredible flexibility, this *wasn’t* comfortable, and with the way Novak’s erection flagged a bit, this wasn’t a great position for him either, no matter how erotic. He swore, and slowly pulled out. “Oh, fucking christ.” Novak groaned. “What are you doing? I said I was flexible enough fo-”  
“Keep the damn flexibility for the tennis. This position is all wrong.” Roger growled. He put Novak’s leg down, then grabbed the underneath of Novak’s thighs and hauled him up against the wall in a groan of effort, pressing. Novak breathed harshly as his back was slammed against the tiles, and he automatically hooked his legs around Roger’s waist, using his heels to encore himself. Oh yeah - there were advantages to fucking someone who was as much an athlete as you and could help you fuck the hell out of him against a wall, and Novak was light for a man of his height and build.  
Roger definitely wasn’t one of the biggest guys or strongest guys out there, but this he could do. Properly aligned, he re-entered Novak with one single thrust and they both groaned with it, because this time angle was perfect and Roger was in balls deep. But now with that position, Novak had really no choice but to wrap his arms around Roger’s neck to support his own weight, so when Roger opened his eyes, he found himself inches from the Serb’s face. Novak’s lips were slightly opened, and so were his eyes. It was disturbing. “Most people- Ah-” Roger thrust, hard, almost viciously. “Close their eyes when they’re doing this.” He punctured almost every word with a roll of his hips, and he knew he was clipping the Serb’s prostate every single time he did that. Novak practically whined with every thrust.  
“Ahhh. I’m not- ah, most people. And you haven’t given me a reason to close my eyes yet. M-most people kiss when they fuck.”  
Roger raised startled eyes at that. Yeah, he kissed when he fucked, he loved to kiss, it was one of the most erotic things ever - kiss Mirka, that is, not anyone else. “You want us to KISS?” He never imagined Novak would want to. “I thought you weren’t into warmth and cuddling.”  
“Ah-ah-ah. Kissing - ah -  is part of sex, I didn’t ask for a snuggle.” And with that, he closed the distance between their heads to bring their lips together. Roger froze and averted his face, but his whole groin twitched from the sensation of Novak’s stubble against his face.”Don’t” He said sharply, almost panicky. “This is too inti-”  
“We’re fucking, so we’ll kiss, or do you want to stop?” And then Roger felt a deliberate clench around his dick. He groaned, and his resolve snapped. He went for Novak’s lips with anger, more biting than kissing, teeth colliding. However, Novak, expertly, grabbed a hold of his tongue and was sucking on it, hard. OhGodfuckingGod. his cock twitched inside Novak as if the Serb was sucking on his dick. He heard himself groaning an expletive in Swiss, and from the way Novak’s lips curved in a smile, he knew it tasted of triumph to the other man, not exactly what he wanted.  
He released one hand from Novak’s thigh, keeping him balanced with the weight of his body, and reached between them to grab his dick, while angling his hips just so, slamming Novak harder against the wall. “Like this?” His teeth sank into the Serb’s lips.”This is what you like?” he dropped his head to the Serb’s adam’s apple and bit there, too.  
Novak moaned, and when those eyes finally rolled back and closed in pleasure, it was Roger’s turn to feel victorious. With every thrust of his hips, he could feel the fire building in his balls, and sweat was running down the length of his back. He pulled back and adjusted the position just so, and when he thrust back in Novak let out something akin to a hoarse sob, and his fingers dug harshly into his back. Then Novak clenched around him, and his hand was suddenly flooded in wetness and Novak was groaning, low and brokenly, in his ear again and again, coming with a string of Serb profanity.  
Roger came in a muffled exhale a second and several thrusts later, his forehead involuntarily dropping to Novak’s shoulder as he fucked him hard, his rhythm stuttering and uneven, through the orgasm. Shitshishit.  
Neurons exploded in his brain and for a moment he had lost awareness of his whereabouts and who he was with. There was nothing but the pleasure of coming.  
The haze made him lose his sense of equilibrium and he felt his knees turning into jello, the  “Christ. Nov-Stand, stand up - I can-I have to sit.”  
He pulled out too quickly, eliciting a sharp gasp from Novak which didn’t sound altogether comfortable, but managed to keep both of them upright until Novak had both feet on the floor.  
Novak sank to the floor, still breathing hard, while Roger sat down heavily on the bench and disposed of the condom... he leaned his head back against the wall and avoided looking at the Serb, who was sprawled on the floor, naked, bruised and covered in his own Semen. Shit. The sight of him, well fucked and pleased about it, was deliciously obscene. He pulled on his boxer shorts, nudity suddenly felt so - out of place.  
He could feel Novak’s eyes on him, weighting. Roger eventually glanced at his direction. The Serb cocked a brow. “So?” he wiped at the trail of semen on his chest, and Roger looked, in spite of himself. “Was good, no”  
Roger grimaced, the expression was pure Rafa, he didn’t need that particular mental image right now, and he wasn’t sure Novak didn’t imitate the Spaniard deliberately, to get a rise out of Roger. He sighed. “I really don’t know how to define what just happened. I just know that it was a really stupid idea, Novak.”  
Now, with the sharp surge of arousal gone and on the other side of his orgasm, he kicked himself for the sheer stupidity of it. Yeah, he fucked Djokovic, he made him swear and moan and come his head off. Which was exactly what the Serb asked for. If anything, it was going to make him more smug and annoying than before, knowing how he pulled Roger’s strings. A good orgasm just wasn’t enough to make everything else insignificant. And then there was Mirka, that was an open wound, and he closed his eyes against it. Fuck, what has he done.  
Novak shrugged and stretched.“Maybe, maybe not. That’s up to us, really.” He hauled himself up, then grimaced in pain. Roger looked at him. “You okay?” He was usually a more generous lover than he demonstrated today.    
Novak sighed a bit. Not a bad sigh, it was a little breathy, and more than a little content. “I’m going to feel that all day long”  
Roger raised a brow. “I thought that’s what you like.”  
Novak chuckled. “When the blood is down here - “ He gestured down. “I don’t really use my head, but yeah - I like it a bit rough. And the season is over, as long as I don’t play a match after, it’s all good.”  
Roger nodded. He felt drained. Novak pulled on his pants, studied his bruised body in the mirror for a second, then walked over to him and sat down next to him. “You’re over-thinking this, Roger. This was supposed to be about good sex, that’s it.”  
Roger shot him a dark look. “If all you wanted was good sex, you would have gone elsewhere.  You wanted to see if you could get me to do this, and you did. Game, Set, Match Djokovic”  
Novak bristled “I don’t need tricks to feel like I’ve won against you. I already beat you once today.I was curious to see what it would be like, doing that with you, and you were curious too, so stop looking at me like I raped you into fucking *me* through a fucking wall. Maybe YOU should have stopped, it’s not like I didn’t girve you a chance to.”  
Roger bit on his upper lip. “You’re right” he said eventually. “I apo-I’m sorry, Novak. This wasn’t a fair comment.” He looked up at him, and said plainly. “It was good. I don’t mean to be mean about it. But if I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t do it. It didn’t feel - right. But I guess it’s not your responsibility, I should have known better.” He paused, then said. “You really played fantastic today, you know? I was close, but couldn’t do it. You’ve gotten really tough to beat. You do all the right stuff. Congratulations, it was well deserved today.”  
Novak cocked a brow with a smile. “Today, huh? What about the US open Semi-final last year?”  
Roger fidget a bit, then muttered “That was - less deserved.” He smirked though, and the tension in the room eased a bit. They looked at each other for a moment. Suddenly Roger frowned as he noticed the teeth mark on Novak’s neck, he fought a sudden urge to touch the bruise..“Sorry about that.” He said, “That was a bit - too much.” He glanced at Novak’s face. “People are going to see that.”  
Novak shook his head and said reassuringly. “It’s freezing cold in the press room, I have a scarf, don’t worry, I’m not stupid.” He examined Roger’s face for a moment. “You’re going to tell her.”  
“Yes.” Roger closed his eyes. “I have to.” There was no need to ask who Novak was talking about. “I don’t keep things from her. Even when it’s difficult.”  
“Is that going to cause problems?”   
“Well, define problems.”  
“Is she going to try and kill me?”  
Roger let out a humorless laugh. “Um, I don’t know. It’s quite possible, actually. I do promise you that I’ll probably die before you do.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes against the shame of it. “Novak.” He said softly “You should go to press. Really. You don’t want to keep British journalists waitings. Bad things happen when you do. And I need a minute here, by myself.”  
Novak sighed, then got up, and finished dressing. He paused at the door. “You should have a good rest in the break. So we can pick up next year from where we left off.”  
When Roger opened startled eyes, and Novak smirked at him. “The tennis, Federer. The tennis.” Roger smiled in spite of himself, then sighed. “Have a good off-season, Novak.”  
Novak nodded, and disappeared behind the door, and Roger repressed the need to slam his head back against the wall. ShitShitShit. He knew he couldn’t sit there forever, that Mirka would come looking for him any second now. But his mind was a jumble of images, and he was worn out from a long match and an intense orgasm. So he closed his eyes for a moment, while trying to push the images of the last hour from his mind.


End file.
